


DRIFTERS: The Dawn, Vol. 1

by WinnGuinie



Series: DRIFTERS: The Dawn, A Drifters Prequel Series [1]
Category: Drifters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note (Chapter 1), Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Semi-Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-22 06:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinnGuinie/pseuds/WinnGuinie
Summary: A prequel set fifteen years before the canon arrivals of Toyohisa, Nobunaga, and Yoichi; focusing on the initial years of Abe no Seimei’s ‘drifting’, and his rise to the title Grand Master within the Octobrist.Vol 1: Abe no Seimei is drifted at the same time and place an End is summoned. Introducing herself as Katherine Howard, the pair navigate a world unfamiliar to them. Meanwhile, rebels of the Weir- beings capable of shifting between animal and human forms - seek to add Drifters to their growing collection of 'Heroes', who could repel the Orte-Integra alliance from the Woodland Councils of Bacchae. Although, Toussaint Louverture has been the only Drifter they've managed to save from the clutches of the Holy Empire of Integras, and the Black Queen.
Series: DRIFTERS: The Dawn, A Drifters Prequel Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214744
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Additional Content Warnings (CW) for chapters so far:**
> 
> Graphic Depictions and Imagery of Violence and Death, Mentions of Abuse and Child Grooming (Restricted only to discussions relating to the life of Katherine Howard and Yodo-dono.); Seppuku mention; Graphic Depictions of Body Horror (The Black King's Magic + Undead enemies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This prequel uses historical figures in the same manner that Kouta Hirano does in his series of Drifters. I have researched each historical figure depicted as best I could, and have also read and researched themes which may be interwoven in the plot. I will write with the most utmost respect for sensitive issues that may come up. However, if I offend or disrespect anyone, I apologize deeply, and will endeavor to open myself up to criticism and suggestions. If you have any of those, please send me a message!
> 
> The original bones of this was created in late 2016/early 2017 when I was still in Sixth Form. The concept and prequel idea has been continuously developed in downtime between study. At the time of accidental posting, it is 15/03/2021. As such, I ask that you be understanding of this, as up until now I had hidden this prequel fic in my drafts since I was a teenager -- only recently unearthing it out of a sense of nostalgia.
> 
> I genuinely didn't mean to post this. My hand slipped as I was playing with writing on the Draft function, and I posted it accidentally. I'm still terrified and underprepared, but! I hope this is alright. Again, let me know if it's not.

It is the Year 6:47 in the alternate world of Ganzir, a land that has known no peace since antiquity. Throughout it’s time, sightings and machinations of strange individuals are recorded, whose purposes vary from the stirring of peace, the bringing of it, or to end life itself. They alter history through their battles, only to vanish once their work is complete. Inhabitants of Ganzir, innocent or not, are caught and tugged in this petty quarrel between the powers that summon these strange beings. Even so, the people have coped -- through religion, suppression, war, and love, unconsciously moving forward with their robustly fragile existence.

In modern-day Ganzir, the Orte empire has brought the majority of the southern continent under it’s heel through war and violence; attempting to stretch itself across the world. Meanwhile, the eastern continent is embroiled in political schematics, regarding the succession of the Merchant Guild Gu-binnen. The nations in the western continent of Desolation continue their selfish wars. Beastmen clash with settlers in the northern lands.

  
Amidst the chaos, Easy summons her warriors to end the sixth cycle of humanity. Murasaki sends his own to stop her— and give humanity a chance to begin a seventh. Six times now there have been battles between the Easy-aligned Ends, and the Drifters, whose allegiance is not restricted to Murasaki himself. Another battle for the tides of history is underway.

Abe no Haruakira is summoned as a hesitant key player, to prepare and lay the pieces for Murasaki's latest game. One of Easy’s soldiers, the first and last End spared by the great Onmyouji, inadvertently becomes one as well.

In defiance of Orte and looking to a brighter future, the Alliance of Desolation rises.

Through its founding— in opposition of humanity’s looming extinction, the will of the Octobrists is born.

**Pictured: The Western Continent of Desolation,** _in which the First War of Drifters and Ends fractured the land and climate, causing the people of Desolation to migrate to survivable lands._ **(As opposed to the 'currently' Orte-dominated Southern Continent in Canon Drifters)**

> **The Kilga-Meish Steppe,** _land of the Tieflings, connecting to the Northern Continent of monsters and untouched by the affairs of the Humen Conflicts_ **;**
> 
> **Noct-Galha,** _Orte-Integra Occupied Nation of the Dark Elves, dubbed "Orte's Foothold into Desolation"_ **;**
> 
> **Woodland Councils of Bacchae,** _woodland homes of the Weir, undergoing forceful annexation by the Holy Empire;_
> 
> **The Desolation,** _a wasteland scarred original End and Drifter conflict which magically scorched the land to the point of ruination. A neutral ground, undesirable for it's lack of resources and life;_
> 
> **The Holy Empire of Integra,** _a nation ruled by the Pontifex-Dyadic, intent on spreading the Dyadic Church to other nations and allied with the Orte Empire. The nation zealously upholds the Dyadic Religion, which deems Ends and Drifters to be Gods among men, with it's crusades being in the name of 'saving humanity'. It's military might is strengthened by the Black Queen's armies, as well as Orte's;_
> 
> **Kerys,** _a nation continuously paying reparations to the Holy Empire for the Quingen War of Desolation, which they lost several decades ago. Unaligned with any conflict, but indirectly funding the Holy Empire's Crusade of Desolation. It's capital city of Delysse has recently been razed by Agustin soldiers for offering quarter to refugees of Bacchae, Noct, and Astra;_
> 
> **Agustin,** _a nation once colonized by Kerys before establishing it's independence after the Quingen War of Desolation. Being funded by Integra, Agustin has effectively become a puppet state of the Holy Empire, with it's trade, finanical interests, and economy being dependent on it;_
> 
> **Astra;** _by definition an extension of The Desolation, but managing to thrive despite this- it's trade routes from the Councils and Agustin have been cut off by the Holy Empire in an alleged prelude to a potential invasion for expansion. Currently, the Royal City of Estakhr has been repelling Integran troops for quite some time;_
> 
> **The Ruins of Megiddo;** _a once-vibrant city left in ruins after the Tragedy of Tria-Desolation, in which Megiddo became the battle ground for the Third Era Drifters and Ends. It is now home to Black Queen and her associates, who has dealings with the Holy Empire of the Western Desolation, the Orte Empire of the Southern Walls, and the Suneater Empire of the Eastern Waters._

(Canon Reasoning for Formatting of Desolation:)


	2. Untitled World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arknights Anniversary Theme

**Japan. Heian. 31.10.1005**

**Kyoto**

* * *

Blood splurts-- then slows; red blossoms on white cloth, an onmyoji is knelt before his murderer. Throat sliced open, the man falls forward; a heavy thump making the wooden floor sing. Ashiya Douman, the man who aimed to steal the life of Abe no Haruakira, lay dead in the seating room of an elegant home. “Lord Abe … I should have known you would --” The woman swallows her pride-- her love for her would-be killer, “Please, do what you must.” the lover of Douman and wife of Haruaki, sits across from her husband; a man that should’ve died-- who she saw die, as a direct result of her betrayal. Her eyes are affixed on the scar across her dear Haruaki’s throat, and her gaze lowers. She should’ve expected that such an extraordinary man wouldn’t die from something so pathetic. Tears stream down her porcelain cheeks, yet her moonlit countenance is composed. Haruaki is trembling, dagger shaking in his grip. Through rage-filled eyes, he can barely see, brimming with tears of betrayal, anger, despair -- how do you come back from the dead and bear no grudges? The man who granted him another chance to be with the living, a bearded monk standing some ways away-- Hokudo, stands unmoving - stone-faced at the death before his eyes-- at the crisis Haruaki is facing. Haruaki thought he’d be more composed; he wanted this vengeance, and now …

The Emperor’s onmyoji lets out a feral cry as he grips the nape of his wife’s neck. He brings her close for a tearful embrace— and his blade plunges deep into her throat. Instinctively and impulsively, her delicate hand clutches Haruaki’s sleeve. “Forgive me-- my love … Forgive--” She splutters, bubbling in her mouth as her own words are drowned in her own blood. Haruaki doesn’t give her a chance to finish. Quickly, he drags the knife-- splitting her flesh open as a geyser of blood erupts. While her husband’s white robes are splattered, the white of the woman’s kosode blooms red; spreading across the layers of her delicate robes. As the light leaves her eyes and she falls back, all the great Seimei can see is regret.

Haruaki stumbles backwards, heaving as though the world were collapsing. In his mind's eye, the man remembers his wife’s beauty, their wedding -- how he wooed her with tricks, and how delightfully she smiled. He suppresses the urge to vomit, and fails to. All over his wife’s kimono is his own bile; he hadn’t eaten since Hokudo resurrected his body. He shouldn’t have needed to do this. He shouldn’t have needed to do this. He _shouldn’t--_ “The deed is done, Lord Abe.” The onmyoji suppresses another load. His breaths still short and weary, Haruaki turns to face his saviour, this so-called ‘Sorcerer’. 

“You … You just stood there.” Haruaki heaves.

“Yes. I granted your request.”

“Y- I-- I didn’t want--”  
“You wanted vengeance, and I gave you that. You had no obligation to follow through, yet you cut down Lord Ashiya with a light in your eyes.” Hokudo’s baritone carries weight; a noble heaviness. Haruaki feels small.

“I … He deserved-- That motherfucker nearly--” The bloodied onmyoji stumbles towards the monk, and almost trips. Hokudo catches, and steadies the man; his hand pressing a spellbook against the onmyoji. Dark eyes widen; Haruaki’s bloodied hand fumbles in it’s rush to take it and hold it close.

“Let this be a lesson. You mustn't let this fall into the wrong hands, Seimei--”

“Don’t call me that.” Haruaki cradles the book-- the Hoki Naiden, close. Where it lays against his bosom, a warmth is felt; a relief amongst the bloodshed. Holding the book at a distance once more, the man examines it, before slipping it into his robes. Once the book, so important to his life, is safe-- Haruaki’s gaze falls to the two bodies on the floor; the puddle of blood still fresh. His wife is getting colder; her skin losing warmth. Hokudo’s eyes follow Haruaki, and fall upon the corpses, indignantly sprawled “... You needn’t have fear, Lord Abe. In time, you would have given them the gift of a life reborn without sin. As they are now, their deaths in your tale will only be blemishes, yet Buddha has much more in store for you. You and your life are too large to be brought down by tricksters and fools.”

At the monk’s words, the man grits his teeth. Eyes narrowing at his wife being spoken of in such a way-- and yet, the onmyoji can’t bring himself to deny it. He divined as much. The fact he even did so— Haruaki hated that part of himself. “I ... I know. I know.” The onmyoji breathes deeply. For one last time, his gaze affixes on the corpses; his colleague and his former love. They’re not supposed to mean anything to him, in the grand scale of his story. His heart will pang and swing back and forth— but he’s meant to be more powerful than that, to be above all of this. Still, Haruaki allows his humanity to call to him. He kneels before the two who tried to sabotage his legacy, shutting his eyes. With grace and elegance befitting a member of the royal court, his palms stretch outward close to one another, and plant themselves before him. His head and posture dignified, he lowers his head to the ground. Behind him, Saint Hokudo begins a prayer; Haruaki follows suit. A moment of rest and prayer offered, the lord of the noble clan Abe stands— and turns, intending to move away from the gruesome scene and begin anew—

* * *

— Abe no Haruakira steps alone into a white hallway. Doors of different designs stand sentinel. A lone figure sits on a desk, pointless contraptions and papers scattered across it’s wooden surface. A hot cup is steaming, a strongly scented dark liquid coming from within. The figure squints at a page on a clipboard, adjusting his thickly rimmed glasses. Chewing on a cigarette, he peers beyond his files, looking at the uncomfortable onmyouji. Deep purple eyes bore holes into the man, and the stranger’s lips are tugged into a contemplative grimace.

“Interesting …” He says, monotonously. “Next please.”

Haruaki’s mouth hangs open, incomprehensible noises escaping him. Frazzedly, the man turns behind himself, hoping to see Hokudo. The monk isn’t there. He turns back, eyes darting before fixing themselves on the white porcelain floor in front of him. The onmyoji falls to his knees in hysterics, feeling the ground where his wife lay. He stands up once more, confused tears barely tampered back with his rising temper; Haruaki has been through enough today. “W- Who are you!? Where am I?!” he yells, scrambling back on his own two feet. “Sorcerer! Churl! Do you know who I am!?” 

The figure gives no response. The lost onmyouji grits his teeth. “I … I am the Emperor’s adviser, onmyoji of the noble Heian court. I am Abe no Haruakira, and I will be given the answers I deserve!”

Silence. The figure only seems to survey him, pupils prodding at his existence. Clearly, this man has heard such a tirade thousands of times before. To have suffered abuses from his ‘applicants’ is something he seems to have expected by now. Moments pass between the two men as the purple-eyed man uncaps a pen, and begins etching on the paper before him. Haruaki can only watch, aghast and floundering. 

“... I expected far greater from your character. It appears you too were a victim of embellishment.” The figure says abruptly, tapping the pen as he finishes his work. A strong wind grips at the left side of Haruaki’s body; violently and brutally tugging. The onmyoji’s face whips, and sees a door; stone lined and a murky, glowing substance at its entrance.  
“Ah … Arghh--!!” With all his might Haruaki wrestles and screams, an eruptive, unseen, force instinctively bursts from the onmyoji’s body-- papers flung from the mysterious man's desk. “Y- You--! Fucker--” His struggle is in vain, as Haruaki howls in fear and confusion at the figure-- yet soon his legs-- his body-- and now his face are engulfed in a warm glow and light.

The man who will one day be known as Abe no Seimei disappears into the void. It’s finally quiet.

The mysterious figure, Murasaki, massages his temples. How troublesome. His break would now be spent clearing that up.  
Gloved hands meticulously remove a sheet of paper from a clipboard; an armored man steps into the hall.

“Next please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Footnotes:  
> \- Many of Abe no Seimei’s tales involve the almost equally powerful Ashiya Douman, his rival and fellow onmyouji.  
> \- A famous tale regarding Ashiya Douman and Seimei recounts how Abe no Seimei lost a duel with Ashiya Douman, who had stolen the source of much of his power, the spellbook Hoki Naiden; taken after Douman had seduced and convinced Seimei’s wife to betray him. Ashiya Douman killed him, and usurped Seimei’s position as a husband and powerful court mage. Saint Hokudo however, knew of Seimei’s importance to history, and resurrected him through old magic. Hokudo returned to the home of Douman and Seimei's wife, and tricked Douman into admitting he had stolen the book. Seimei, who was hidden, revealed himself, and killed both his rival and former wife.


	3. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dororo OP 1

**Ganzir. Sesni. 6:45.5.2**

**???**

* * *

Haruaki's eyes snap open. A sound like acid fizzes behind him, before disappearing completely. The man inhales; what a peculiar scent. He doesn’t register that all feeling is lost in his body until it starts to return to him. Whatever he’s feeling below him, it’s soft. His legs feel pins before they feel normal, and the feeling travels upwards. Palms outstretched and planted on the ground, he feels around before properly pushing himself up. Sitting upright, dark eyes scan around; a field of stalk and white flowers greet his gaze, none like he’s ever seen before. His hands reach down, and snap the stem of one of the flora to inspect it closely; a crumpled bud, with petals flourishing. Were his situation not so confusing, he would see it as endearing. Panic begins to set in once more as he realizes he recognizes the field as nowhere in Japan. Was he in Hell? Was this retribution for his sins? A lavender light flashes metres ahead of him -- a strange pattern of boxes in boxes, a gust blows from within this gate of purple. The man stares, transfixed and squinting; a heaviness is emitted in the middle where the pattern forms-- powerful and dark.

“My … L _ord ....” A choked feminine voice calls out to the onmyouji. From directly behind him. It sounds like it’s drowning. It sounds … familiar. Haruaki holds his breath, and the thrum of panic in his chest deepens, anxiety crushing through. He can hear his heartbeat; body frozen in place, in fear. “My ... My Lo … rd?” The voice is getting closer; flower stems are snapped as a figure -- no …_ _figures -- stagger towards him. Drip. Drip. Drip. Something above him is dripping, like morning-dew after a storm. It sounds heavy. From the corner of his eyes, he senses shadows towering over him. Drip. Drip._

 _Drip_.

_Something heavy and viscous lands on his cheek. Haruaki is frozen; blood running cold. He’s trembling, and he can’t stop it, heart racing in his ears. A hesitant hand reaching up to press against his cheek, the man pulls away. Inspecting his finger, his heart drops._

_Blood._

He swa _llows, tilting up to gaze at the vile creature boring back. Thin matted tendrils, Haruaki recognizes as once silken locks he stroked on wedding night, descend to curtain the view of the flowering field. Jet black pupils are set against coarse skin pure white; it stares deep into his soul. Her eyes are too big to be human. Thin lips— ruby in colour— are tugged into a wide smile.“My…L .. or.. d?” His wife croaks. She smells of iron, her body below her neck coated in scarlet; drained._

He tries to say her name, but try as he might, no words wish to leave his lungs. _From behind, cold fingers have slithered their way around his adam’s apple; tips of which begin to lovingly squeeze. Slowly, gently. All Haruaki can think is that he was going to die. He was alive, breathing -- but now barely. His vision is going white, blurred-- Ah … so this was how he was going to die. No one could resurrect him if he did so now. Another hand snaked it’s way through the curtain of black, pushing it aside. The eyes that meet his have red nerves sprawling on the white, reaching like a root towards the pupil; bloodshot and lifeless-- another onmyouji. Ashiya Douman. The face itself is like stone in texture, but still appeared soft to the touch.. “Kh- Dou … ma …nn--” Haruaki gravels, his words crushed by the hands wrung around his neck. Douman says nothing, only extending a cold hand to caress— then grip the jaw of his rival, his dearest friend, and killer._ He struggles to move, to scream. Nostrils flaring, through grit teeth he forcibly exhaled— gazing at Douman’s once oft smug face, memories of Heian court snapped him to reality. He could hear Douman now, in his awful, chiding tone; ‘Would the Emperor’s Onmyouji die so pathetically?’. 

Haruaki eye’s flutter shut, huffing and wheezing through his clenched maw. The man chants what he can— what he learned from his years of training, from his mother and mentors who prepared him against such evil imagery; a ward against demons, a blessing against black magic. It has to work. It has to work— _please work_ —

“— GHhk— Ack!”

A piercing cry rips through the air, and a thud.

Abe no Haruakira sits up, practically screaming his chants— only to cough out and heave, chest expanding and welcoming the fresh air. As though he were pulled out of water, the man splutters — rolling over on all floors to regain himself. He … he didn’t expect that to actually work. Vision coming to, changing from bright white, and settling into an array of colours; the flora are there once again, a sky at sunset, and ... Purple. Finally coming to his senses, Haruaki blinks. 

The scream he heard wasn’t his own.

Sitting upright, the Onmyouji snaps his neck around, a bit too uncomfortable to crane his neck upwards again. There, a few paces away—

A blindfolded individual on all fours (did she land on her front?). Her head turns as Haruaki coughs out the last of his struggles, back straightening noticeably. The fallen young woman lifts herself off of the ground.

A black and violet vortex dissipates behind her.

Dainty hands wiggle about trying to find a surface, the young woman stumbling carelessly. She could’ve been no more than shoulder-height to Haruaki. He squinted in observation; the top half of her face was obscured with a black blindfold. Though her hands were free and unbound, she made no effort to remove it herself. Pathetic whimpers escaped her, distress apparent in her bearings. Fingers pale and delicate, they were stretched forwards, aimlessly feeling around. “<R- Rochford--? Wh- Where!?>”

She trips abruptly-- almost comically. A white bonnet was tied around her head, yet stray curls of auburn escaped to catch the setting sun. Her dress appeared to be a grey pinafore, over white puffed sleeves. Her appearance walking contrast to the women of the Heian court, their robes shapeless and loose hair sprawled and dragged through court, as though they were leading the night sky. The onmyoji blinked, mystified at her appearance. He once thought he met men of all walks of life, but never had he expected to see such a unique individual. Swallowing, the man wonders if he should prepare for his understanding of the world to be rewritten. The girl’s hands continously and uselessly stretch outwards, waving pathetically. 

“<H- Hello …? The block-- O’ Where--.>” Noting the cracks and light graveling her voice, the man recognizes her anxiety; a tone of loss tinged the tail end of her speech, had she been crying? Haruaki frowned. If only he could understand her. Standing erect, he dusted himself off. His shoes crunched the flowers below, denting wheat and flower as he made his way. She nearly hits him with her wiggling, so the man catches her flailing digits.

“<HiEE--!!> She screams, whipping her free hand against the cheek of Haruaki. 


	4. Polly Jean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carole & Tuesday OP2

“FUCK--”

The man yelps and groans in pain, and the young girl silences herself at his racket. Stumbling backwards, she rips the blindfold off her face. Dewy eyes, amber in it’s sheen, snapped open— then shut tightly at the unwelcome influx of light. She flinched, lashes fluttering as her own vision flooded back. Slowly and hesitantly, they widened. A high-pitch gasp escaped the girl's throat, the girl’s gaze falling upon the landscape. A field of asphodel and stalks of wheat; muted shades of yellowed green and white painting the earth in it’s simple beauty. Orange and purple burned the sky behind it as the sun lowered, and the stranger gasped. She spun— rubbing an eye in disbelief as she continued to gape the scenery. Her pale hands, raised to her mouth, covering it as though afraid of the noise that would escape. Haruaki groaned, rubbing his increasingly red cheek. Yet regarding the confusion and fear scribbled upon her countenance, he understood that she too knew nothing of how they got there. 

The girl whips back around, eyes scanning Haruaki up and down as though interrogating him. “<Wh- Who…?”> She starts, “<W- Who are you!? Where is everyone--! Lady Rochford!?>” The girl calls out, scuttling a few steps past the onmyoji -- who is by all means a stranger to her. She stands still, gaze scanning the seemingly unending horizon.

Haruaki tilted his head at her confused shuffling and spinning, relieving his sore cheek. He noted how her features were unlike any he had observed in Heian-Kyo, or anywhere in his travels. He assumed her identity to be one of a girl from far away lands. 

In a field of white flowers, a gentle breeze whipped around a pair stood parallel. The young woman released the blindfold from her grip, “<Where …>” She started, voice wavering. “<This… This isn’t-- Where?>”. She turns slowly, in wonder and amazement at the scenery surrounding them. Haruaki regarded the stranger, thinking the red lips against her translucent skin made her seem sickly, as though she had rarely seen the light of day. Then again, many women of the Heian court were the same. “<... It’s … Beautiful …>” She whispered breathlessly. 

Haruaki rolled his eyes. He could tell when someone was amazed even without understanding the language. Unfortunately, he had expected a similar reaction to his own; of confusion. Exasperatedly shook his head. “I fear your words are foreign to me.” The young woman gapes at his words-- correctly, he’s led to believe she can’t understand him either.

An arm outstretched, the onmyoji’s sleeves motion to the scenery, flipping and waving in annoyance, “As is this land! Being foreign to me, I mean." The young woman blinked at him curiously. "What great misfortune I’ve had today. Awful.” He continued, his face grimacing at the field of white and green. In spite of the banter he seemed to try to partake in, the girl goes quiet. Haruaki notices how she's tensed. Cautiously, she takes a single step back— the man tilts his head quizzically. Her eye is trained elsewhere, and Haruaki follows where her worried gaze focused on. 

His robes were still splattered a visceral red. 

“A- Ah—! This is just—“

Their eyes meet. His heart drops.

_A pulse of power shockwaves through his gut, something inside Seimei cracks-- and the man stumbles back._

_Light dies in the sky, leaving only death. Ashiya Douman stands in front of him-- where did that girl go? His corpse is drained. The whites of his eyes clear in the contrast against rotting skin. Scarlet flowers blooms into a spider lily field. The ground beneath him feels soaked, a squelch under his heel; Haruaki looks down to find his hakama drenched in blood. He stands in gore. Boiling and bubbling, it’s hot— the temperature, the depth, it piles, and rises, and rises, and rises—_

In the distance, he hears a young girl shout in panic.

Pain ripples through his skull out of nowhere— a familiar feeling that Haruaki isn’t sure he wants to embrace. Through gritted teeth and vision blurring, he chants a blessing; the same spell he used before. The sharp pain shifts to a dull ache, and Haruaki falls to his knees— panting. Fr _om all sides his view was dark, the onmyouji unsure if his blood was running hot or cold._ The man tore away at his eboshi; the cap crumpling as chilled sweat ran down his chin. Uselessly, struggling hands moved to tug away at the outer layer of his kariginu. Haruaki felt like he was drowning on air, the pressure on his chest crushing as tears welled in his eyes — a colorfully robed woman stood watching; his wife. The onmyouji felt death coming, choking on his own fear.

The onmyouji gasps as though deprived of air, now knelt on all floors like the pathetic man he was. Haruaki’s heart is racing, body growing sticky from sweat. Hysterically, his neck cranes and twists and turns; he’s short of breath somehow, and he can’t remember why. The world sets in and blossoms forth, like forgetting the edges of a painting, and Haruaki remembers. Dyi _ng in a field of flowers— were they always red_? This was his reality. A paranoid glance catches the young woman’s -- the real young woman's -- gaze. Reality sets back in for only a moment. A crucial moment which Haruaki understood; she wanted to run. He hears the crunch of flowers and wheat as the girl turns, shooting a pitiful look his way.

_What a familiar gaze._

“W— Wait—” The onmyoji reaches out, but she becomes a blur; distant and fading in the burning daylight. In tandem reality sn _aps to darkness once more, the flowers red and mentally drowning from his own guilt— his bloodied wife staring down at him;_ _please forgive me_. Haruaki shuts his eyes tightly, feeling tears pouring down his cheeks as the weight of his own sins crush him. He doesn’t know how much time passes as he pathetically crumples, heaving and gasping and sobbing. 

_A man in glasses sits upright, noticing Haruaki; holding court in the ever widening field._

A cool sensation-- jolting his return to the field of white flowers, the burning sun setting; fading slowly with the nightmarish world he saw. All too quickly, the sensation grows— welcoming, and pleasant; it is the touch of delicate fingers, pressed against his temples.

His fe _ars melt away, as do his thoughts. The figure of the robed woman no longer existed, and neither did the bloody higan_ banas or the enveloping darkness of the night sky— it was all a mirage. Haruaki’s hazy eyes come to, and he finds himself face to face with the young stranger; her hands cradling both sides of his head. Her brows are knit in worry, mouth agape as she breathes laboriously-- was she speaking? He couldn’t tell. 

But she came back for him.

A sweaty sheen is present on her countenance, yet her gaze is indecipherable. Haruaki is too occupied to think why. Lethargy settling in his bones, he blinks. Slowly, carefully— the man feels a distinct tremor in her hands. His delusio _nal stupor subsides but not completely_ , and Haruaki chants once more; a mantra of purification. Desperately, he grasps one of the hands pressed against his head, the soothing presence keeping him tethered to the world. His words are ceaseless, and minutes pass before he feels well enough to understand who and where he is. His hold on her hand tightens— eyes struggling to stay open. Teeth grit, he wonders-- like his prayers, would his spells work in this hellish world too?

The onmyouji reaches into his robes, and fumbles for the Hoki Naiden, his precious spellbook. Again, he hopes to call on the blessing of the divines, and prays they haven’t abandoned him to this Hell. Eyes catch the girl’s mouth opening; it’s muffled. Not like he would understand her, anyway. As the book is flipped open in the crook of his hand. A cold wind blows and turns the chapters for him, almost endlessly. A single page adorned with written blessings is torn out by the struggling man— he bites down, ripping it cleanly in half; a paper charm to ward against Black Magic. 

Haruaki holds it close, inhaling deeply as the writing glows— eyes shut in prayer, the characters on the slip gradually return to normal. He pants, vision swimming into clarity as he finally is able to gaze at the girl before him; her gaze one of awe. The paper falls, and dissipates into shikigami-- flying into the open book. Hesitant fingers let his head go, though his own still held hers. The girl looks taken aback, a tear streaming down her cheek.

“What …” He starts to ask, clumsily slipping the Hoki Naiden back into his robes. A hum of pain thrums in his head, but subsides gradually. “... did you …?” 

Clearly, she’s amazed, as is the understanding that she doesn’t know what she did. Abruptly and with disbelief, she laughs, warm with relief. Her hands remove themselves from his own, hovering over his cheeks. A piece of Haruaki wants to believe she was to blame for the visions-- what else could it have been. A gut feeling tells him that her power is far greater than either of them can imagine. But here she was, smiling that he was unharmed in the end. And what kind of demon would return to mend a mistake? His free fingers still pinch the other talisman, unused. “<I--,>” She starts, but closes her mouth again. Appearing still for a moment of thought, the young girl presses a hand to her chest. “<Erm … Katherine. Howard.>”

Doubts are replaced with a warmth in his mind. _She didn’t mean to hurt you_. Haruaki nods, understanding.

He’s still out of it when she pokes him on the chest (quite daringly). Haruaki coughs at the contact; a mischievous smile tugs her lips, but assumes she wanted his name.

Breathlessly, the onmyoji speaks. “Abe no Haruakira?”

She nods slowly, half heartedly with a polite smile. The name and words are clearly foreign to her. The onmyoji raises an eyebrow, moving his hand to gesture to himself—

“[We found them!]”

In the darkening horizon, horses approach.

Crushing flowers in their paths, the stallions whinny. Upon their backs, armoured men brandish torches; their faces worn from war and battle. 

As they approach, instinct kicks in. Haruaki clutches her hand, and yanks her up from the ground where they sat. Katherine yelps and flounders with her footing. Haruaki still tugs her along. 

But their efforts are in vain. A horse circles around, and blocks their way. The onmyouji turns-- and finds himself and the girl surrounded. The sky has already begun to fill with stars. Together with Katherine, Haruaki takes cautious steps back; staring up at the knight before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Sexual Grooming + Abuse Implied re: Katherine Howard
> 
>   
> Historical Footnotes:  
> \- The Lady Katherine Howard, decapitated at 19 years old on the 13th of February, 1542. The former lady-in-waiting of Anna of Cleaves, and the fifth wife of Henry Tudor the Eighth. Flighty and innocent, historians recount how throughout her life, she was manipulated by men, and in the final years of her life, blackmailed by those who wished to gain footing within the English nobility. After confessing that she had sexual relations before being married, and finding her love letters written to Thomas Culpeper, the former Queen of England was sentenced to death for “failing to disclose her sexual history to her husband, the King”. She denied ever having been unfaithful. Katherine's lady-in-waiting and “conspirator” Jane Boleyn, Viscountess of Rochford, was executed alongside her.  
> \- Her End ability stems from how throughout life and history, Katherine was most likely forced into acting out fantasies and appearances for others, however short-lived, while also possibly buying into the fantasy of her own dreams of romance and girlhood herself considering she was barely out of adolescence when she died. In a reversal granted by Easy, Katherine has become capable of creating fantasies for others at her own whims and design. Whether or not such illusion magic has any physical bearing on the victim has yet to be seen (so far).


	5. Gods of Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kamisama Kiss - Op 1

Haruaki swallows, gawking at the armoured man. An iron helmet reflects the soft glow of a warm torch, his features shadowed and imposing. Without thinking, the onmyouji reaches behind, and pushes the girl to his side. He’s not so sure why he hides her when they’re cornered by men armed to the teeth. The young woman appears to almost faint. 

“[Hmph. It seems that royal bitch was right again.]” The mounted knight mutters. He removes his sword, pointing it at the onmyouji’s nose. “[Speak, stranger. Drifter or End?]”. Haruaki swallows. He’s definitely never heard that tongue before. Knowing he was being questioned, but unable to answer his query, Haruaki grits his teeth. “I- I don’t understand! Wh- Where are we? What do you want from us!?”

The knight scowls. “[A Drifter, then.]”

With a wave of the hand, the other men dismount. “[We scarcely have need for more Drifters. Kill them.]” His voice is collected, roughness refined to an edge of intimidation. The soldiers unsheath their blades-- 

And Katherine winces, eyes widening in fear as though… as though she had remembered something? Like a vision had ripped through her mind. Violently her hands grip her head, clutching for release in vain; her hair in the bonnet becomes slightly loose, curls of auburn untwisting from the back. The other grips the robes of Haruaki uselessly, curling into a ball on the floor. She gasps, muttering to herself. The men cease their approach, and watch the scene unfold in confusion. In a mantra, she begs them not to kill her -- if Haruaki could understand.

“H- Hey!” He panickedly turns to her, kneeling by her side and hands hovering over her back. The still mounted-man-- assumedly their leader, watches. He tugs his horse, the creature huffing and cantering a few steps back. Katherine continues to cry out, huffing in pain and hand reaching out to cling to the sleeve of Haruaki’s robe. “What’s wrong--?” He goes down, clutching her shoulders. “Oi--!”. And she goes silent. Her eyes open; it’s metaphorical shine, gone.

Haruaki stomach churns.

A man behind her grows tired of the charade, and yells at them. Foolishly he approaches her, and reaches down to grab her by the neck. Within the same moment, the young girl looks up, eyes wide in fear. Her bonnet ripped away and curls of flaming scarlet unraveling-- Katherine's neck cranes slowly upwards, lips trembling. 

A sharp scream pierces the air. The _stars fade in and out as a robed woman returns, stained red-- she turns but disappears almost immediate_ ly. He hears a man screaming distinctly, as stability returns to him. The charm casted earlier worked well enough that his consciousness remained intact. Despite this, nothing could be said for the others. He looks at the man who stupidly tried to grab her; now on the floor fearing their lives, crawling away from something unseen. 

The horses whinny and one by one, the other soldiers fall prey to delusions of horror. Torches fall, and ignite sections of the flowering field. Screams calling for aid echo through the field; some begin to claw at their faces. Another draws his sword, aimlessly swinging at his comrades. A blade catches one on the torso, who launches himself at the other. The at-first unaffected attempt to run--

“[Ends! They’re Ends!]” The mounted man screams at his men to pull through, eyes ablaze with treachery at the apparent defenseless individuals; “[Get them! For your Queen!]”.

The girl stands to her full height; imposing in spite of her size. Her red hair whips in the chaos, falling past her waist; tears stream down her cheeks and rage evident in her countenance. Haruaki would've thought she looked breathtakingly beautiful, were it not for her killing intent. She stands, body unmoving amidst the chaos. Her gaze turns to the mounted knight. The white horse whinny's violently, flinging him off his steed. Haruaki can barely believe his eyes as he looks up at her, the young woman -- who earlier smiled with the relieved warmth of a man being safe-- treading towards the fallen knight. Haruaki gapes in horror; frozen in place. His hand tightens-- something crunches. 

Dark eyes widen as the man opens his forgotten closed fist. He had forgotten all about it-- the unused talisman. 

The fabled genius of the Heian court stops thinking. 

Teeth grit, Haruaki clasps the ofuda charm, “You--” He starts, voice low. Gaze up to the young woman, wondering if she was the same person only moments ago. “Idiot!” Haruaki launches himself off of the ground towards her-- the girl turns to pay him mind. 

The man does something he always assumed he would never do to a woman. Haruaki throws himself at her, arms wrapped around her waist. 

She yelps, a hand flying to his head-- and the agony returns; flashes in his mind's eye that he dared not to recount. Yet the onmyouji has thrown all caution to the wind.

Sitting up, he presses an elbow against her neck, pushing her jaw upwards. His weight on her, Haruaki’s free hand holds the talisman between his fingers. 

“The God’s dwell beyond our world! We greet them, we greet them!” He cries out. The girl underneath him begins to scream, struggling and thrashing, gripping whatever she can-- Haruaki’s tied bun is caught, and released into a ponytail. She tugs, his face turning upwards before fighting to gaze down at his adversary. 

A fla _sh of throbbing pain blooms in his head-- men in masks dance the kagura amidst growing inferno_. It seemed that the charm could only work so far on himself. He prayed that sealing the source, stifling it even farther than himself-- than Kamo no Tadoyuki could-- would be enough.

“We greet them! All those Gods from the Greatness here before us!”

He yells over her agonized cries, the begging he can scarcely understand. The soldiers flounder and gasp, like drowning men pulled to shore. A burst of tiny paper men, like birds, emerge from nothing and flourish-- circling the pair on the ground. _The dancing mirages dissipate with the sound of a bell._

“Hi-Fu-Mi-Yo-I! You bestowed us with your divine laws.  
Mu-Chi-Ya-Ko-To! Your kin bestowed us with the Ten Blessings, and eased our pains!

From Ancient Times, From Ancient Times Onwards!”

Haruaki thrusts the o-fuda between his fingers forward; the shikigami turn to talismans as they stick to the howling girl. She’s pained, the life in her eyes returning. He knows that she can see him. He wishes he didn’t feel himself falter when her anguished cries turn to sobbing. The onmyouji releases his elbow, arm moving to stretch outwards.

“Ritsuryou grows! Ao-Shiro-Tama-Aya-Kuro-Mikado-Mikado-Ao-Kuro!!”

Her voice weakens, and Haruaki is released from her steadily loosening grip.

“Grow Ritsuryou! From the Ancient Times Onwards!”

Her struggle tapers out like a dying candle, body enveloped in paper charms; unmoving. Haruaki’s posture loosens; panting. Sweat drips from his head to his chin. “Gotcha.” 

The tired man peels himself off of the young woman, and falls back; not minding how the grass poked his behind. Winded, his chest feels funny. He must have overexerted his magic usage again. Horses gallop in the distance-- men argue as the other soldiers (weren’t they struggling a while ago?) stagger to fish the pitiful girl out from under the charms. They press her wrists together, tightly bounding them. The onmyouji feels faint, and the distinct feeling of metal against his cheeks. Two gloved hands have reached for his shoulders, violently jerking Haruaki up from the ground. All the man can do is watch as they take her away. Haruaki tries to call out to them, for them to stop. 

He doesn’t know why he’s compelled to.

The (assumed) leader of the group approaches Haruaki, the knight rubbing and twisting his neck. A veritable crack makes Haruaki cringe, and the knight shakes himself steady. “[How curious that you stopped her. She would’ve killed us all, you know.]” Sardonically, he twists his head. “[An End against another End? Not unheard of. Yet … Your magic. It looks awfully familiar--]” 

“[Sir!]” Another yells, calling out to the knight. “[The End still breathes!]”. Haruaki watches, gaze hazy and his legs threaten to give out. He wonders if they’re going to kill him.

The knight huffs, “[Hmph.]”, a hand reaching to grip the Onmyouji by the jaw, “[So you _didn’t_ dispose of her.]” He speaks distantly, voice heavy with threat and interest. “[Ends are predictable, their bloodlust is always evident. And yet…] 

Cold fingers yank at Haruaki’s face, maintaining eye contact. The knight examines him like prey. The armoured stranger chuckles, motioning to his men. “[A Drifter and an End. How convenient.]”

The onmyouji is released from the forceful grip, [“Take them away. I’ll see to it the Commander hears of this. The Drifter will keep the girl out of trouble until the Queen gets to look at her. ]”

Haruaki tries to speak. To say he doesn’t understand. A hard fist connects with his cheek. 

He slips away, consciousness enveloped in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Footnote:  
> \- Kamo no Tadayuki is the man who Abe no Seimei was raised by after his own personal family drama involving his mother. No spoilers for those who know!


	6. Boys Come Back To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mawaru Penguindrum OP2

**The Forests of Bacchae**

* * *

The first thing he realizes is that he’s moving. Or rather, he was laying on _something_ that was moving. Coming to, Harukai shifts himself upwards-- as well as he could with his hands tied-- groaning. Iron bars meet his gaze. Side to side, soldiers accompany them on foot, two are on horses; the onmyouji was in a prison wagon. The wagon hitches and bumps on stones; from the rustling of the leaves and from what he can gather from faint torchlight, at the moment, they were traversing through woodland. Armoured men nod to each other about their waking hostage. Haruaki notices that directly above him, on the roof of the wagon, paper strips are stuck-- written seals. Squinting, he recognizes them as translation charms; perhaps to eavesdrop on prisoners they couldn’t understand? Haruaki remembers himself and wiggles his chest. A moment of relief; the hoki naiden wasn’t taken away. The other figure lays across him, bound. So, Katherine wasn’t killed after all.

Beyond brushes of leaves and bark, a single wolf howls. 

A momentary, cautious glance is spared to the soldiers walking, and Haruaki shuffles to the girl.

“H... Hey.” He whispers.

She’s quiet, but shifts.

“Wake up.” Haruaki says, nudging her with his foot. Silence. He shuffles around, his hands near her face. His fingers feel her face-- and he pinches her nose.

The girl snorted, and honked awake. Before she can react in fear or otherwise, Haruaki nudges her harder with a shush. A handful of the convoy notice her shooting into consciousness, hands hovering over their swords as they murmur to one another. 

“Listen-- Listen to me. Remain calm. Just breathe.” The girl inhales, breath sharp and afraid. Exhaling shakily, she whimpers as fearful, delicate eyes scan foreign surroundings. Unlike before, her expressions of fear aren’t accompanied with nightmares but pity. “Are-- How are you feeling?” He asks, as though he didn’t tackle the girl hours ago to silence her. Now that he thinks about it, Haruaki’s first instinct was just to wake her. He wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Where--” She whispers, words hitcheds as her breathing quickens, “Where are we-- Who—? Wh-”. Katherine looks at him, eyes widening; “Wh- Why can I understand you now--!?” Haruaki shushes her as the girl raises her voice. The onmyouji clicks his tongue, and lowers his head to whisper, “It seems we’ve been taken prisoner.” Her body freezes. “We’ve been kept alive, for now. So, don’t do anything foolish. ”

He pulls away, and the smaller girl blinks in disbelief. Her eyes catching moonlight, Haruaki notices she might cry. Haruaki shuffles uncomfortably. A moment of silence passes before he speaks again; “Erm. W- We can understand each other because of those.” He motions to the ceiling. 

Katherine gazes to where he points, and is still aghast; “R- Runes …?” 

“Ofuda. Paper charms, to be specific.”, he replies.

Katherine makes a noise of ‘not understanding, but curious nonetheless’. He lays back, twisting his bound hands. With his spellbook, he should be able to craft something to escape the prison. But again weapons and men, clearly stronger than he, such a plan wasn’t a good idea. He had thought to ask the girl if she could do the same thing she did before. At least, now with him properly prepared, and without risk of killing anyone. 

In the darkness, he hears her sniveling and mumbling to herself. Katherine was crying.

… 

They might've been better off being taken to some sort of civilization first. 

Wolves continue to sing in sequence in the distance. Wildlife rustles in the woods they pass.

“H- Hey.” Haruaki mumbles to her, clearly not used to being near someone being emotional (especially women). “A- Are you okay?”.

The young woman pauses in her sobbing, looking at the onmyoji. “I--” She starts, hiccuping. “I- I can’t believe-- I was being executed and now I’m still alive I--. Haruaki shifts a bit closer to her. Watching her fall apart in such a state, a part of him wishes he didn’t wake her--

Haruaki pauses. Did she just say ‘executed’?

He regards her strangely, unable to tear away his gaze. Yet she continues venting, “I-- Maybe I’ve died!? M- Maybe this just happens. Perhaps I remain in purgatory-- This is purgatory, I--“

“Hey! Hey, hey.” The man interjects. He already felt the eyes of the convoy upon him, the soldiers snickering to themselves. Haruaki sneers at the men, disgusted. Yet, the onmyoji continues trying to soothe her. “Erm. My name is Haruakira, of the Abe clan. I fear you didn’t understand me earlier when I tried to tell you.” He tilts his head at her, kindly. “I assume you are … not from where I hail, Lady... Kath... erine Howard… ?” vaguely, he alludes to their differing appearances. In this way, the onmyoji hoped to distract her from what was an incredibly awful reality they were sharing.

The young girl sniffs, her dark eyes looking the man up and down (Haruaki takes note of how her gaze lingers on the drying bloodstains on his robe). _Flashes laughter, of shining jewels and women laughing. Men laughing, touching. Uncomfortable but they’re pleased with you. Love, fear, anger, hope-- You’re running, they’re almost upon you now; ‘just let me see him. I need to speak with him’--._

Haruaki winces. Katherine struggles to wipe her nose. She shrugs, “N- No, I suppose not.”

The wagon slows. The soldiers mumble to each other-- blades drawn.

Low rumbles, guttural, emerge from the wood.

Horses whinny, and knights yell -- the convoy shakes with the pair inside of it. 

Without thinking, Haruaki yells for Katherine to get down. 

Soldiers draw their blades, and large wolves launch themselves at the men. Lupine figures filter out of the woods, their bodies adorned in glowing painted marks. A soldier yells for the wagon driver to get out of there. The driver has his face easily caught between the maws of a large white wolf.

Katherine screams, Haruaki’s head starts to hurt. He slams himself against the bars— _visions begone_ , and the young woman cries at his action. She’s crawled to and buried herself in his back as though he would protect her. _‘Defend her’_. For one reason or another, Haruaki’s thoughts nudges him to. Though his hands are tied, he follows through, shuffling to hide her from the violence. Soldiers who once surrounded the wagon scream as their armor is easily pierced and torn limb from limb. Warm liquid shoots from necks; peppering the bars and wood with red. 

He yells at her. “Don’t look!” His mind of self-preservation is drowned by the singular determination to protect her. Tightly, he shuts his eyes until the screaming stops. Until he hears a horse galloping away.

Wolves howling. As though they were celebrating.

The howls melt into human laughter. Verbal taunts and jeers are tossed at the fleeing soldier. 

Haruaki opens his eyes to see men in furs and armor, hoot and holler. A handful turn to the pair in the wagon, continuing to cheer as they bang the bars of the prison wagon. Though at first glance human, wolven ears protrude out of their head. The grins, fanged and dangerous, are directed at the pair; canine-like eyes staring down their newfound prey. The wolf who tore away the head of their driver, approaches-- and the fevered voices die down. With each step, his features grow more human, and soon he walks on his hindlegs. He had what one would consider the usual features in men; eyes, nose, and a mouth. Yet, fluffy sideburns covered where human ears would be. In it’s place, large, lupine ears-- appearing soft, twitched at the pair before him. His mouth is splattered, awash in blood, and it drips-- unmistakably however, a thick red line is drawn across his cheeks. Another goes over his eye, vertically painted and reaching the left side of his jaw. This wolf-man, noticeably tanned as his silver hair caught moonlight, opens his palm to his companions. In it, one of the men places a key salvaged from a corpse. The cage is unlocked by their bloodied rescuers, and both Haruakira and the girl sit frozen in bewilderment, horror, and amazement. 

“So." The man asks, "D’you guys feel like destroying the world?” 

The onmyoji blinks. Briefly, he turns his gaze to Katherine; her eyes wide like saucers, transfixed on the shapeshifting men (was she blushing?). Haruaki stammers, “C- Come again?”

“‘Thought not.” Lupine eyes gaze up to grab several of the translation charms plastered above. Clutching them in his hand, he waves it at them. The wolf man grins, remnants of blood clinging to carnivorous teeth. “‘Name’s Doug. Consider yourselves hostages of the ‘Friends of Handersen’, Drifters.”

The girl gasps. Haruaki opens his mouth-- “Wh-”

Doug barks, and howls in mischievous, victorious glee. The pack follows suit. The man’s claws hold the prison wagon open, beckoning them to join their party. “Now get outta there!” He barks, “We’re walking back to camp.”


	7. I Believe What You Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Higurashi Gou OP

**The End-Occupied ruins of Meggido**

* * *

A horse desperately rushes across fields, into a barren wasteland. People, pale and vacant in their gaze, work in the rising sun. The scent of rotting flesh wafts into the surviving soldier’s nostrils, but under no circumstances can he stop. The horse stumbles and falls, from exhaustion and dehydration. On it’s last legs, the man has no time to tend to the animal’s needs. He abandons the dying creature, in favour of fleeing on foot. He bumps into wounded kobolds, goblins, and orcs alike, all of whom repair a falling-apart castle. 

“Your Majesty!” He calls out in winding, walls of damaged marble. “Y- Your Majesty!”

“The Black Queen isn’t taking guests right now.” A masked man, clothed all in black is summoned. The soldier feels the tip of a small steel knife slide between slits in steel armour. “I can take a message for her. If I feel like it.”  
  
The soldier gasps at the feeling of the kunai penetrating chainmail, cold sweat dripping from his cheeks. He shuts his eyes tight, “P-Please--! I- I have a message--”  
“Lord Kato.”

A young man yells from the hallway entrance-- to where the Black Queen sat waiting. His hand lays on his katana hilt as he approaches. “Leave the poor messenger be.” 

Kato Danzo tuts. “Amakusa, you must stop letting me have fun.” Danzo pulls down his mask, offering the young man a smile; lips scarred. Amakusa sneers, tightening his own ponytail as he approaches the soldier. “You.” The trembling man straightens himself as Danzo pulls the blade away-- disappearing into the darkness. “You had a message for Her Majesty and the Lord?” The soldier nods fervently, holding back sobs. Amakusa ‘hmph’s’, pushing the man forward. He staggers, having not slept or eaten in hours. Entering a marbled balcony, much more congenial than the rest of the castle, four individuals surround an ornate lounge. A woman sits forlorn on the sides, stacking stones above each other in a trance. Another woman, veiled and in a black gown, paces back and forth, sneaking glances as a simple, bearded man in robes; scarred upon his temple. The soldier gulps; Danzo must’ve been watching from somewhere else. Amakusa grabs the man by the back of his neck, and throws him down forwards. The teenager doesn’t bother entering the room.

His gaze meets the seated woman, dignified in her comfort. Robed, with a ribbon tied in the front to hold the luxurious layers together, smokes from a long-stem pipe-- a playful smell of opium wafts in the air. Porcelain skin contrasts lustrous black hair; framed around her face and long enough to spread across the floor in delicate swirls. Each straight strand meticulously calculated in how it fell across her body, golden hairpins catch the faint glow of her lit pipe. A timeless beauty who brought an end to civilizations, who secured Orte’s win, yet remained youthful. The Black Queen switches her gaze from a paper talisman, to the pathetic man simpering at her feet. The soldier holds his breath, and curls up into a grovel. 

“Allow me to guess, my dear.”, she breathes; smoke leaving her breath. Red eyes look downwards, her expression exasperated and superior. “You had trouble retrieving the End? All of you slaughtered?” 

The soldier gasps out, “Y- Yes! Exactly, we were--”  
“You were all slaughtered by the Weir, and they let you go as a message.” His racing heart drops. The Black Queen frowns, maternal disappointment on her countenance, “My my, what a shame. To lose a piece of my collection to rats.” The Queen coos, flipping the paper talisman between her fingers, lithe and slender. “Lord Caesar hasn’t been training you people properly, has he? Did I not tell him to accompany your unit? I specified as such in my request”. The word ‘cargo’ makes the veiled old woman twitch, clutching herself as she paces. Amakusa watches from the doorway with cautious interest. 

The soldier is speechless. The Black Queen sighs, like a mother whose children were misbehaving. She crushes the paper talisman in her palms— and kisses it. Her digits bloom like a pale lotus; the talisman is replaced with a paper shikigami. As though the woman were blowing a kiss, the Queen presses her lips together and puffs— the birdlike paper being sent on it’s way, and fluttering out into the open air. Her cunning eyes shifting in thought, the leader of the Ends takes the pipe from her lips-- and presses it under the soldier's chin. With it, she guides the frazzled soldier forward, tilting her head sweetly. “Am I correct in assuming Caesar simply passed the order off? Does the man not like me?”

“I- I- I-”  
“I know you can’t speak for him, my dear. But, I know. You needn’t have bothered coming all this way.” The Black Queen pulls away, a warm smile on her face. “Yet I see your determination. Your love to keep your nation alive.” With a flick of her wrist, she continues, “I bid you to leave. Give my regards to your family”. The soldier is still. Then bursts into laughter, out of paranoia, in disbelief. He dives forward, clutching at the base of her robes. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you so much--” 

The warm expression on the Black Queen’s face turns cold. Unsure what to make of this gesture. “Joshie darling, what is this?”

The bearded man standing next to her remains still, eyes observing the fumbling soldier as though he were scum.

“He shows you his appreciation.” He answers, a calm draw to his voice. The Black Queen hums. “I see, I see.” Lightly, she kicks the begging man, who begins to crawl to the door-- too relieved, too tired to walk. 

A sigh escapes her throat; disappointed, yet again. “See him out for me, would you Joshua-darling?”

Joshua nods, “It would be my pleasure, my Queen.”

Approaching the soldier, the bearded man offers his hand. The crawling man hesitates, hand slowly reaching out. The moment they touch, the soldier's hand begins to bubble. Solid boils spread across his arm, taking root across his body. His screams bounce across the ruins, growing muffled as growths swallow him-- turn the man into an unrecognizable, rotting mound of flesh. Steel armour engulfed in flesh or slowly popping off, the Black Queen sneers. 

Joshua releases his grip, leaving the tumorous mound to stain the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:  
> \- Amakusa Tokisada Shirou, beheaded on 28th February - 12th April 1638, after being captured and betrayed by a man he thought to be an ally. The 17-year-old leader of the Shimabara Rebellion, he had led Japanese Roman Catholics (a religion illegal at the time) and ronin (masterless samurai) against the Shogunate. Outside of Amakusa's capture and the traitor who was spared, there were no survivors.  
> \- Kato Danzo, a ninja master of Sengoku era Japan. His skills as a talented ninja earned him the moniker 'Flying Kato', and a place at the side of Uesugi Kenshin. Kato attempted to defect to the Takeda Clan after the Uesugi had plotted to kill him. However, the head of the Takeda, Shingen, suspected Kato of being a double agent. The Takeda ordered Kato Danzo's death by decapitation in 1569. His age was unknown.


	8. In My World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue Exorcist OP 2

**The forests of Bacchae**

* * *

Katherine needed to be carried.

Haruaki shuffled her on his back. Her frame was small and lithe, so it should've been easy enough. Haruaki didn’t expect to carry her until morning, though. Doug and a few of the men insisted that it be this way, noting her reaction to the bloodshed (she couldn’t walk, and was mocked for resembling a baby deer). The wolves surround them, pushing them forward occasionally sniffing at the man as he would attempt to hold the girl above their muzzle range. Occasionally they nipped at his shoes— _asagutsu_ , which were called ‘clogs’ by one of the men, sending the pack into howling laughter. 

Haruaki was tired.

This was probably his punishment for his frivolity as an onmyouji and nobleman. His time to repent for the deaths of his wife, and his rival, would be spent amusing, quite literally, larger-than-life dogmen with a potential child of dark magic in his arms.

Now that he had some time to think, he actually did start to wonder. This mysterious girl, Katherine Howard-- it seemed her name was-- possessed some kind of power. Obvious to the onmyoji, it seemed clear that it was out of her control. Whether or not she was aware she had it was certainly a question to think about, considering how she acted. Yet at the same time, Katherine appeared to act completely instinctually. 

Of course, Haruaki only theorized and came to this conclusion, based off of the moodswings she had, and what he had personally experienced as the person constantly being closest to her. It seemed that his charms did the trick to suppress the illusory nightmares she inflicted on others, but that did not stop minor, weaker slips entering the mind. Still, throughout their time together -- which was in fairness, limited and brief, and marred by stress-- not once did the onmyoji sense any sort of demon within her. Just a sliver of something sickly, small, as though haphazardly planted deep in her heart. His purification spell should’ve worked on such things, but alas; it remained. If anything, whatever he sensed from Katherine;

Very slowly, it was rooting itself deeper.

“We’re here.”

The onmyoji snaps out of his thoughts, finding himself looking at a random spot in the forest. “Here?” He asks. Two wolves nuzzle in between bushes, and the ground crumbles away. A deep hole meets Haruaki’s gaze, unable to peer beyond the vast shadows coating within. 

“Erm …” Haruaki hesitates, setting the girl on his back down as he kneels. She shifts and groans, appearing to stir from slumber but still out of it. A few members of the pack burrow where the hole is, and crawl inside. The leader, Doug, shifts his features until he’s human again. 

“C’mon. It’s not so bad.” He motions for Haruaki to take the young girl and follow them. The onmyoji blinks, confused. Doug rolls his eyes. Wrapping an arm around the onmyouji, the wolfman’s ears droop. “Are you scared?”

“Uh. M- Maybe?”

“I understand.” Doug slaps Haruaki’s back, the man wincing at the other’s strength. Doug grins, and moves to slap him on the back-- only to shove the man in front of the hole. Haruaki screams, tumbling down into the darkness. Out of earshot, he hears Katherine yelping (he can assume he woke her). 

Deep in the hole, the former diviner slides down, the dirt grating what was exposed on his skin. Suddenly he stops, lost and panicking-- he can’t breathe; his hair has come undone behind him. Behind him, a ways away, he hears Doug growl, “Keep going forward!”. The words are distant, but the onmyouji gathers himself long enough to wiggle on his elbows. Spotting a faint light, he works his way, coughing and choking on kicked up dirt-- and then he rolls.

Haruaki tumbles, and lands on his back. Small, blurry figures look down on him. They’re whispering to each other. One pokes his cheek with a claw. Several lights-- candles-- now that his vision is coming into focus, dangle from above. The onmyouji can only blink at the three children staring down with him. Cat ears, antlers, and the ears of a bear are features he focuses on in particular. He switches his gaze to the growing crowd of onlookers, each with animalistic features.

He doesn’t have the energy to react. 

Wolves who descended first clear the gawking crowd, the children in particular are carried away by the napes of their necks-- Haruaki can barely make out the voices, what the rabble whispers to each other, but he is too tired to. 

“Mind your head.” 

The onmyouji grimaces, rolling over on his back to see Doug carefully handling Katherine (the girl doesn't take his hand). Gracefully, she hopped out of the hole Haruaki assumes he just tumbled out of. The white-haired wolfman waves to Haruaki, “I see you made it in one piece!”. Katherine’s cheeks have turned scarlet, the young woman clearing her throat and dusting herself off.

Were Haruaki not a man of the Gods, or incredibly tired and in shock, he would have been compelled to beat Doug senseless. 

“I’d rather you didn’t act overfamiliar with me, Dog.” Haruaki mumbles. One of the wolves, still large and fluffy in form, snaps it’s jaws at the laying Haruaki, shooting up in shock, “Gah--!”

“It’s Doug. Don’t call me Dog. Or you get that. We have good ears, don't forget.” Doug gestures to his companions as his fluffy ear twitches; the multitudes of men laughing at the Drifter’s expense. The wolf who tried to bite the onmyouji rolls his eyes instead, shifting back into a human. Haruaki grumbles, unused to being the plaything in the center of the court. His eyes meet the young girl he was with; Katherine. She bites her lip, relieving Doug of her company to join Haruaki, still on the floor. She doesn't offer a hand of help, “Are you alright? Doug explained everything to me.”  
  
The onmyoji blinks. He senses whatever it is in Katherine is still there; his own magic blanketing it to counteract whatever would’ve come out. He waves a hand, pushing himself up with his own palms. The auburn haired girl stares up at Haruaki with concern.

“Well,” Doug continues, standing before the pair. “Welcome to the Sanctuary of the ‘Friends of Handersen. The Weir Resistance against the Union of Empires; Orte, Suneater, and Integras.” 

_‘Resistance’_? Haruaki thinks. Katherine gasps, verbally repeating the man’s thoughts; “Resistance …?”

Doug nods proudly, “That’s right. I don’t know if I’m qualified to tell you about anything, so we’ll just let you rest for a little bit before the captain briefs y’all.” The two blink at him, taken aback at the seemingly random words that came out of the wolfman’s mouth. 

Noticing their obvious confusion, Doug grins, “Well, we were really lucky to come across you two! Good thing we caught you guys right before entering Integra boundaries, huh?” Before the pair can question anything-- ask for an explanation or context-- Haruaki is shoved forward with an elbow clutching his neck. Arm thrown over the Drifter, Doug gestures for his team to be dismissed, and beckons the teenage girl to follow. Katherine looks at the wolves, the men who saved her, beginning to yawn and stretch like oversized dogs. Their fur, each being shades of brown, morph as the men shift into human-like forms; white muzzle-paint shifting to grace their human features. Katherine chases after the pair who’ve had a head-start on her.

The trio traverse the ‘sanctuary’; a settlement hidden within a dirt cavern, far bigger than the entry hole would suggest; burrowed and warmly lit with candles. Different holes dug in different spots-- squirrels crawl upwards and shift into human beings as they slip into them. Accommodations, perhaps? But shouldn’t they be occupying the woodlands he and the girl were found in? Haruaki assumed they would be from the cavalcade of people, each with woodland creature aesthetics, and not burrowed underground. They pass a group of young men and women sitting cross legged, a stag-horned man draws a crude map for them on a stone tablet. Katherine’s expression appears more mystified than cautious, at least compared to Haruaki. Faun-legged children play in a stream. A rabbit-ear’d woman cleaning clothes waves to the auburn-haired girl. She slows down in her gait, returning a smile and bobbing slightly in a curtsy. Doug clears his throat, and Katherine gasps, scuttling back to Haruaki. The onmyoji gives her a side-eye, amused by her flighty antics.

Finally, they reach their destination. It’s one of the cavern-dug burrows, unique in that this was reachable by foot and on the ground floor. “Welcome to your new home.” Doug knocks, and opens the double-framed door; a simple room, large enough to act as living quarters. Though candles are placed on a small desk by the door, it is unlit. A figure shuffles on one of the five beds inside.

“<... And who are these you bring to me, Monsieur Doug?>”, The stranger speaks. His voice carries graveled weight, “<I was bid to rest. I would prefer not to be disturbed.>” 

Doug nods, “<Ah, were you sleeping? I got some interesting friends for you.>” “

<’Interesting’, you say?>” The figure in the shadow responds, words slow and thoughtful. A contemplative silence passes. Haruaki can’t understand the tongue. Unlike the stilted language that appeared to be the common tongue in this world, the language the stranger and Doug spoke flowed through, almost nasally.

“<Hm. Very well, let us have a look.>”


	9. Redo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re:Zero OP 1

The stranger approaches the group, features now illuminated with the warm candle-light emanating from the cavern halls.

He appears simple, aged with earthen lines folded under his eyes and forehead. The stranger’s skin was dark; darker than those the onmyouji had met in his travels to India. On his lips, a cordial smile was tugged, emphasizing the wrinkles, which basked in the glow of candles. Thick hair, coarse and greying at the roots, appeared tied into multiple braids that weren’t actually braids. Instead, sections of hair, locked into place, were simply tied back-- resting on the broad-shoulders of his homely frame. Yet, for this stranger’s warm appearance, and diviner that he was, Haruaki can only regard the smaller man with awe. To his eyes, and Haruaki’s eyes alone, it seemed as though fate and history had closely followed the aged stranger.

“<Tis a pleasure to meet you both.>” The stranger doesn’t bow. He only smiles. The onmyouji swallows, attempting to speak. In spite of being taller, Haruaki feels dwarfed. The young woman beside him however, curtsey’s after a few seconds of wonder.

“<H- How ... do you do, monsieur…?>” She greets him. Haruaki and Doug snap their necks to her.

“<Ah! It seems the girl speaks french as well. Although, somewhat archaically. Stilted, as well.>” Louverture says, a hint of surprise evident even to the pair who came to him. 

“<O- Only a little! My lord.>” Katherine cuts in. The stranger just stares at her. She clams up, posture stiffer than before.

In spite of his charming, practiced beams, this man did not regard the pair as impressive. Instead, he directs his attention at the white-haired wolfman, “<I assume they are in a situation such as I, then.>”

Doug takes a moment to smile at the girl, and motions for Haruaki to go inside. “<Indeed. We found them taken prisoner by Integran soldiers, in a convoy bound for Megiddo, no less.>”

Tiredly, the stranger smiles, and waves his arm for them to come in. “<Well, who am I to stop you and my new ‘associates’ from entering.>” Haruaki shivers. Was that a hint of condescension? The stranger moves to rummage around a drawer. Doug goes to join him. In their shared search, the wolfman produces a matchbox; wiggling it as the older man sighs in response. Roughly, the stranger takes it-- and in one smooth movement, strikes a match. Alone, he sets to work on illuminating the room. 

“Ah, right.” Doug remembers himself, reaching into his pocket. A paper charm stolen from the wagon in his hands, and offers it to the aged Drifter. “<Put this on yourself.>”

The old stranger stares at the strange slip of paper, and chuckles; obliging with a “live-and-let-live” shrug. To the side, Haruaki has been granted a moment of levity-- yet the weight of the new world only grew clearer by the moment. Spirited so far away from home, so far removed from everything he knew, and had known-- it is this moment that Haruaki realizes there may be no escape for himself. He was trapped with no way to return to Kyoto. This was his world now; living in a cavern with strangers. Harauki feels like he should’ve stayed dead, just ignored Hokudo’s calls--

A hesitant hand touches his bloodied robe sleeve; the red spray having turned brown in the hours that passed. When Haruaki reacts to the contact by jumping, Katherine tilts her head quizzically. Quickly, he recomposes himself-- turning to look at his companion. “Yes?”

It is obvious after seconds of silence pass that the girl is dumbstruck, at a loss for words as she gasps like a fish for air. After a few painful moments of her gaze twitching everywhere but him, ruby lips momentarily pressed in consideration, the shorter woman finally speaks; “Erm..” Haruaki smiles politely. Awkward, and stiff.

Katherine bites her lip, self-concious; “Pray, forgive my hitting you earlier.” 

“... Hm?” The onmyouji raises an eyebrow. 

“Erm! I remember... I was blindfolded. I felt someone touch me and I hit something. There was a scream … am I not mistaken in assuming that was you?” 

“Ah.” Oh right. That time.

Haruaki feels himself flush, “W- Well. That was nothing! At least compared to the other things you put people, and myself through.” 

Katherine freezes, still. Haruaki glances down at her; she looked horrified. “A- AH--” Haruaki continues, “W- Well, it’s all water under the bridge. It is. You caused no harm. Any harm done was to people who wanted to hurt us. Yes.”

Katherine blinks up at him, fear still present in her gaze. Despite this, she smiles; stifling her guilt. “Th- Thank you... I... ” The girl still seemed troubled, looking down to fidget. The onmyoji blinks, wondering if she knew what she did. Haruaki briefly shoots a look at the pair on the other side of the room, speaking discreetly as a paper charm is passed between them. He leans down, keeping his voice low;

“I’m Abe no Haruakira, by the way.”

The young lady glances up at Haruaki, a warm smile gracing uneasy lips; “Truly? How unique. Almost exotic!”  
The onmyoji’s lips tug into an amused smile, “Now see, to me, your name is unique-nay-exotic ... Lady Katherine.”  
"Eheh. I suppose you are right there." She chuckles. Haruaki sighs, yet his emotional burden has somehow been lightened.

Doug clears his throat. “Now, I’m glad to see you two getting settled. Toussaint over here now has that translation sticker that’s letting you guys understand things, so feel free to chat to him too.” The man waves in greeting at the mention of ‘Toussaint’, lighting the final lamp. Doug points to the young woman, “Oh! But, the little lady still needs to come with me.”

“The translation charms?” Haruaki starts.

“‘Little’--? A- Am I going somewhere?” Katherine asks, straightening herself to full height (she was still small-framed).  
“Well, ‘few of the Friends suggested you might feel uncomfortable in that weighted dress or whatever when you start getting to work. I got the memo to take you to them to change into something more adventurous.” The wolfman replies.

The girl is speechless. Haruaki and the older stranger exchange glances, unsure if they were supposed to care.

A nonchalant shrug from Doug is all they get. “You can’t run around feeling suffocated in a dress, girlie.”

The girl is simply taken aback. For a moment, she appears as though she wants to protest, to fume at Doug. Yet, she bites her tongue. Instead, like a noblewoman out of practice, Katherine bows, “Please excuse me,” and moves along slowly— stepping outside, and out of sight.

“W- Will she be alright …?” Haruaki asks. A part of him is worried about the corruption within her; small, but intense— capable of churning out upsetting visions and dangerous illusions. Most of him wants to believe his magic will last long enough for her not to hurt anyone.

“Sure, sure. ‘I’ll just bring you two out when the Capn’ and girlie are ready.” The wolf waves away the two men left behind, “You’ll find extra clothes in the drawers by the beds. Be ready in half an hour, and play nice!”. He’s already half out the door by the time he finishes his sentence. Now left without the company of a wolfman or Katherine, Haruaki was left to bond his new companion.

“It seems that we’ll be expected to work together from now on, along with that little noblewoman.” Haruaki jumps at the militaristic voice. His back jerks itself stiffly, and turning slowly, Haruaki stares face to face with the older man. Yet the stranger approaches him with a courtly gait-- amicable, almost. He extends a palm to the onmyouji; it’s tone lighter, contrasting the deep brown of the stranger’s hands and face. “I am François-Dominique Toussaint Louverture.” He introduces himself, a practiced smile on his lips. “Shall we get to know each other?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:  
> \- François-Dominique Toussaint Louverture, a man born a slave, who rose to become one of the most prominent leaders against French rule within Saint-Domingue, and created the foundations for an independent Haiti. A famed General and Diplomat of his time, he has become known as the Father of Haiti for nurturing and leading the first phase of the Haitian Revolution; successfully repealing slavery within Saint-Domingue. Before he could see his achievements flourish fully, he was perceived by a threat by Napoleon and French leaders-- who wished to reinstate slavery within the colonies. Weeks after his military retirement, Louverture was arrested, and died of malnutrition in Fort-de-Joux in France, 7th April 1803. A year later, under Jean-Jacque's Dessalines in the wake of Louverture's death, the French presence in Saint-Dominque was successfully repelled, and the Empire of Haiti was created.


	10. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> K/DA Album

**The Palace Boleyn, in the ruins of** **Megiddo**

* * *

Silence falls. Amakusa swallows; having watched from the doorway. Joshua, the closest companion of the Black Queen, caused cancer to grow in a messenger until he was overwhelmed by it. Until his skin had took on the appearance of melted flesh. “Is … Is he dead?”

The blob twitches. The young man gulps. Joshua remains where he is.

“L-Lady Yodo, is this your doing?” Amakusa asks, regarding the still moving mound of what looked like melted flesh. The woman, who sat forlorn on the sidelines all this time— expression unchanging, shook her head. He swallows, and looks down at the pathetic clusters of growths and tumours once known as a man. _Yet, the man engulfed was still alive._ Amakusa holds back the urge to vomit, and reaches downwards— _It’ll be okay, let me help—_

The Black Queen claps her hands, “Little monsters~!” She calls, summoning a pack of goblins; malnourished and underfed. With her pipe, she gestures to the mound cluttering their lounge. “Your meal for today, my darlings. Go and take him downstairs.” The pack grows wild, feral even. Together, they drag the pile of flesh away, into the darkness. 

Amakusa watches, hand twitching on his blade hilt. _This was for the best._ Unbeknownst to him, Joshua too, stares at the goblins struggling to push. Without complaint from his liege, the robed man takes leave of the group to help the smaller goblins prepare for dinner.

The Black Queen takes a sip of her pipe, and releases a steady stream of smoke. “My my, how fun. Although— Shirou.” 

The use of his first name sends chills down the young man's back. His heart flutters and falls into a trance, “Y- Yes... ?” He turns, and sees the Queen with her arms open. Amakusa swallows, and moves to sit beside her. The woman brings him close in an embrace, petting his head. “You’re an embarrassment.” Amakusa nods silently. The veiled woman pipes up, her voice cracking with age and frustration, “You mustn't coddle him, your Majesty!” Blue flames catch on her fingers as the woman manically gestures, “He is useless. Even to cancerous mounds, he extends a hand. His personal feelings will cost us everything. He is old enough to understand we do not—“

The Black Queen pinches her fingers in the complaining woman’s direction. Irritated— she guffaws at the gesture. 

“Shirou.” The Queen has his attention, “Why don’t we do what you just did?”

Amakusa’s lips draw into a thin line; “... We’re above that.”. 

She hums, tucking hair behind his ears. “That’s right. And Shirou isn’t hopeless and pathetic like ‘them’, is he?”

The young man is still. He shakes his head.

“Would Shirou like to make up for it?”

Fervently, Amakusa nods.

The Black Queen smiles, and dotingly presses her lips on his temple. Cradling his head in her hands, soothingly, she whispers, “Locate the Handersen camp with Kato. Take Lady Yodo with you for soldiers. Bring my trophy back alive.” With those instructions, she pulls away— and shoves him off her lounge. The Queen’s neck twists; a white fox’s face snarls and bites at the young lad.

Amakusa stumbles back. His countenance turns fearful, daunted. “Well?” The fox-faced woman growls, baring her fangs. Voice rough compared to the warmth she once had, she stands abruptly, menacingly, “Are you going?”. The teenager grits his teeth, not even replying as he nearly trips in the rush to prepare his steed. Her neck twists again, turning all the way around. The human face, her ethereal beauty, returns.

“And don’t come back without her~!” The ‘loving’ woman calls after him. She nods to Yodo, who stood obediently. The other woman, whose long black hair in length similar to the Queen’s was tied back, wearing a loose hakama, tugs her haori across herself. With resignation and dispassion, Yodo bows to the two women left behind, and follows Amakusa at a snail’s pace. Kato Danzo has— most likely— already left. The Black Queen huffs, seating herself back down. 

The aged noblewoman steps forward, approaching her liege.

“... While a King stands still, a Queen can move when she likes, wherever she likes” The apparently older woman speaks. The Black Queen takes another taste of her pipe. She continues. “But, a path must be cleared. Gathering up pieces capable of doing so. Yet we already have enough to crush the opposition.”

The Black Queen huffs a steady stream of smoke, “Dearest Mary, do not act wise around me. I have lived much longer than you have.”

“But do you know what you are doing? Do you know what you do when you send a child to do the duty of those wiser, and older than they?” The ‘younger’ woman looks to her counterpart, her arguable peer in royalty-- or former, in this case. Mary Tudor shakes her head, “The child, Lord Amakusa. You put too much on his shoulders when Lord Caesar or even Danzo could take them themselves.”

The Black Queen shrugs, wiggling the ash from her pipe onto where the soldier once was. “Your soft spot for the child is obvious, Lady Mary. Do you have any regrets you wish to share?”

Mary ignores the obvious taunt. “Do you not wish for him to take your place? Is that not why you treat him like this?”

The woman looks to her advisor, bemused, “It is because he has no corrupting powers, I am compelled to treat him like this.” Mary sneers in hesitant understanding.

“... You also fail to mention your personal belief, Your Majesty.” She says, “... That it is only a Drifter who has the means to tame an End.”  
With a cunning giggle, the Queen turns her head -- literally shifting into the monstrous face she previously adorned, a vulpine grin spreading across her face. “Oh Mary,” She purrs, “Do you speak from lived experience, or observed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Implied grooming + seppuku RE: Yodo-dono
> 
> Historical Notes:  
> \- Yodo-dono was a Japanese noblewoman; a niece of Oda Nobunaga, and ward, and eventual concubine of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Her mother, Oichi, was killed shortly after the Battle of Shizugatake as her castle was set on fire. Yodo also lost her only brother to Azai Nagamasa's, her father's, attack of Odani Castle. After her husbands death, she restored the Toyotomi clan to great power-- only to be met with conflict by the Tokugawa Shogunate. She was present at the final stand against the Shogunate in the Siege of Osaka; historians claiming that her desire to protect her son, Toyotomi Hideyori, leading the Siege itself. She and her son perished in the flames of Osaka castle, 4th June, 1615, committing seppuku-- ending the Toyotomi noble line. Yodo was only 48 years old, and died not knowing the fate of her daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. In her youth, she was known as Chacha.  
> \- Mary Tudor, also known as Mary the First. A Queen of England from 1553 to 1558, and the child of Henry the Eighth and Catherine Parr. She succeeded at securing the throne after dethroning and beheading her teenage cousin and previous Queen, the Lady Jane Grey. During her reign, she attempted to restore Roman Catholicism, but failed to secure an heir. Gradually she became unpopular due to factors such as rain affecting famine, Prince Philip undermining and neglecting her, losing Calais to the French, and the most known fact that she had 283 protestants who did not renounce their religion executed (most burned at the stake). She died, possibly of cancer, at the age of 42, on the 17th of November, 1558.


	11. Song of the Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Shiki no Uta) - Samurai Champloo ED

“Well?” Toussaint Louverture is seated on one of the beds, gesturing to the room. The warm light making the somewhat cramped space comfortable-- or as comfortable living quarters can be in the makeshift room. Haruaki swallows, shifting in place. The smile hasn’t left the older man’s face, who’s been patiently waiting all this time. “Do I make you uncomfortable, monsieur?”

“N- No! No.” Haruaki waves a hand defensively. Since Katherine and the ‘Weir’ (as they seemed to be called) left, the onmyouji had changed out of his bloodstained robes; sticky with sweat and smelling of iron. Instead of heavy layers in which assistants needed to be there for him to dress, Haruaki wore a thin blouse; worn but still white, tucked into brown breeches. Earlier, Haruaki had torn off one of the blankets at Toussaint’s amusement (the older man had been watching him with interest), fashioning it into a belt to tie at the waist. The breeches were too big for his waist, unfortunately. What’s more, Haruaki’s priestly clogs had been replaced with shin-length boots. In spite of the more reasonable attire however, the onmyoji couldn’t help but feel more naked than usual without the multiple layers. Noticing this, Toussaint had retrieved a purple waistcoat available from the drawer, haphazardly tossing it to the man (Haruaki fumbled for a bit before knowing what to do with it(. Now, the two sat face to face on beds opposite to each other.

The older man shrugged at Haruaki, “Well, if it’s not me causing you discomfort,” He starts, “You look fine, if that’s what you’re frowning about.” Haruaki rolled his eyes, beginning to refashion his ponytail. Without a mirror, all the man could do was hope for the best. He slumped his shoulders, slipping the Hoki Naiden into his makeshift belt. The french man squints at the small book curiously, but doesn’t say a word. Only silence passes between the two men; Haruaki fidgeting and Toussaint remaining composed.

Haruaki musters up the courage to speak, “So … Would it be appropriate to say we’re in similar situations.”

Toussaint smiles, “Indeed. For a moment, I thought I was to die prisoner in Fort-de-joux. Then suddenly, I find myself lying in a hallway of sheer white. Weak as I was to lift myself, I peered to see a man in white, before my body was drawn to a doorway of rock and stone.”

“Ah!” The onmyouji gasps, “Same as I—“

Toussaint raises his hand for Haruaki to stop talking. The younger man obliges, and the former general continues. “Were it not for the woman who took me to Weir friends like Monsieur Doug, I was certain I would perish in the woods. Indeed! I thought myself to be dreaming when I saw the men and women here.” Heartily, Toussaint chuckles. A gap in conversation happens before Haruaki realizes he’s being allowed to speak. 

Awkwardly, he pats his thighs, clearing his throat to speak; “I too, met such a man.”

“Hm. Then it seems we were summoned by higher powers.”  
The onmyouji nods obediently. Regarding the older man, Haruaki wonders what the common thread between him and Toussaint were; if there was a reason they were ‘chosen’ by the man in white. He wonders if Toussaint is pondering the same. The former general’s voice draws Haruaki from his thoughts, “Pardon my asking, but were you in the middle of something when you were taken?”

The Heian priest tilts his head in confusion.

Toussaint brings a hand up to his chin, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard, “Your clothes.” He nods his head to the robes neatly folded on the bed. “Elegant as they were, I recognize the spray of blood anywhere. I also failed to notice any sort of wound on you. So I must ask, as you were spirited away, were you attacked? Or ... ?”

Haruaki is still; the vision of Douman and his wife is still clear in his mind's eye. He thinks of the blood pooling underneath their corpses, how his hand trembled as he held the delicate, little blade in his grip.

“I …” He swallows, “I killed. Someone.”

“Oh?”

“M- My wife... and a friend.”

“Two people? Together?” Toussaint asks. Haruaki nods. “Ah. You killed them for cuckolding you?”

The onmyoji sucks in a breath, knuckles white as he grips his leg. "Ah ... Was I right, then?"" Toussaint grins at his expense; a gap between his front teeth evident. “Please Monsieur Abe, do not be insulted. I was simply wondering what pivotal moment you were taken at in your life. If it was simply an affair of the heart, I assume you were a man of privilege. Especially if you actually had the time and energy to take care of such petty things.”

Haruaki finds it hard to not take offense. “If you wanted to know who I was, there are better ways to ask, Lord Louverture.” He spits.

But the former general shrugs nonchalantly, “Again, you are not denying it. It would’ve been more interesting to work my way backwards and assume what you used to be--”  
“‘Used to’!?”

At Haruaki’s exclamation, Toussaint laughed; heartily and deep. “Do you see where we are, young man?” He motions at the cavernous room flimsily lit with candlelight, “Whatever we were, it no longer matters. We have our talents and minds, yes. But not our ranks; our friends; our families and home. No one in this world knows them, nor will they ever know the full extent of who we were. So … ” The man leans forward, his eyes darkening; Haruaki can’t help but shrink at the movement. “... Would you not call the ‘you’ of our world someone you used to be?”

The onmyouji is speechless; pondering Toussaint’s words. The practiced smile returns to Toussaint’s lips, the man moving back comfortably in his seat. Silver eyes look up at him, “Erm … Could I ask who you ‘were’, then?” Haruaki mumbles, curious what kind of life the man before him led before they shared a cell. 

The older man nods, beaming wistfully “Once upon a time, I was a Governor-General of Saint-Domingue. Before that I was a doctor, a diplomat and leader of a revolution.”  
The onmyouji gasps in awe, “A revolution… ?”

  
Toussaint glared at him. Haruaki couldn’t tell if the man’s patience was running low, “A- Ah. I don’t know if it’s obvious--”  
“That you are not of Saint-Domingue or French? Yes, I could tell.”  
Haruaki shrinks further, but the former general chuckles in bemusement. “I am only poking fun, Monsieur Abe. But … Saint-Domingue is-- was, my home. In my lifetime, it has blossomed as a world where men are equal; forged in the fires of freedom. And I pray that even while I am gone, though France may attack and trample upon it, that Saint-Domingue-- Haiti, may continue to flourish and fight.” His words are heavy; dripping with dreams and ambition. Toussaint’s smile is no longer practiced and polite, but exuding the hope that his own wishes would continue to live on in the world he was taken from. A world he may never see again. Haruaki can only admire him; wondering if he even could compare the differing lives they had lived. 

“That’s… amazing.” the onmyouji says, breathlessly. 

Toussaint hums, his smile surrendering to wistful melancholy. “And you? You seem to have been a man of high-standing. What have you fought for in life outside your personal affairs?”

Haruaki swallows; “I …” He thinks back to his lifetime; comfortable, rife with the petty squabbles of nobles or guiding men who wanted to play at being ‘hero’. “I do not believe … anything ‘significant’ happened. At least in my lifetime.” At least in his eyes.  
In disbelief, Toussaint gawks and chortles; “Truly? Nothing at all?”

“No. I was a court magician--”  
The man splutters, “Magic? Why, were you some sort of spiritual priest?”

The onmyoji’s lips pull into a thin line; “I advised the Emperor on spiritual affairs, but I also told fortunes and divined--”  
“A fortune teller!?”

“I- It was Heian-jidai. All I knew were Japanese imperial courts … ”

“Japan? If I am not mistaken, is your country not in secured isolation? I would assume we as men have moved beyond magic casting and Emperor's. Does a military commander not lead you right now?”  
"You mean ... the Sei-i Taishōgun? Leading the country?" Haruaki tilts his head at Toussaint’s throwaway comment, “Heavens no! I mean … perhaps in the future, if my predictions are correct ...? I suppose we’re moving away from other cultural influences--”

Dark eyes widen before Haruaki can finish speaking, and Toussaint holds up his hand for Haruaki to be quiet. Though the onmyouji wasn’t aware just yet, the former general had realized an inconsistency in their stories. Toussaint leans back, puzzled and deep in thought. Haruaki shifts in his seat, wondering what exactly was on his companion’s mind. He considered their words; of Toussaint’s perception of Japan and his own perceptions of the world behind the Imperial Court. Closing his eyes to think, a gut feeling emerges within Haruaki-- his diviner's mind flashes visions of a world incredibly different to his own; men and women working under the sun, blood and brutality a casual norm, ships on the bay passing cargo of soft, white, crystallized stones-- sweet. Silver eyes snap open with understanding, and Haruaki stands alert-- A diviner's epiphany.

Toussaint raises his brows, biting his lip in anxious apprehension. “I see you’ve come to the same conclusions as I have, Monsieur Abe.”

Haruaki swallowed, “Y- You… 1006 was the last year I spent in Kyoto. But--”  
“It was 1803 when I was taken to Fort-De-Joux.” The former general stands, countenance serious, “As fantastical it may be, ‘tis highly likely that we are men out of time.”

Screams resound from outside the cavern. Toussaint and Haruaki turn their gaze to the door. His vision blurs-- flashes _of home; noblewomen gossip and his wife smiles--_ fading in and _out-- those weren't the clothes they were wearing. They didn't have their faces. Heads on pikes,_ _axe in hand. His neck feels cold_ \-- Toussaint is hissing, crumpling on the floor-- Haruaki clutches his Hoki Naiden; knowing the exact reason why he still stood;

"Katherine--"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:  
> \- The 'Sei-i Taishōgun', which has the really uncomfortable translation of 'Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Force Against the Barbarians', was a title granted to military commanders during the Heian period. The event that Seimei speaks of predicting is the Genpei War, a civil war which resulted in the establishment of the Kamakura Shogunate. Indeed, 'Shogun' is a shortened form of Sei-i Taishōgun. Seimei was more or less alive during the Heian period in which art and culture flourished, and the samurai were only just nurturing their dominance in politics.


End file.
